


all of them

by AppleSun



Category: The Brave (TV 2017)
Genre: Amir's past, Drabble, Gen, and i keep writing bits about it lol, i just have a very specific idea about amirs past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 10:33:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15772353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSun/pseuds/AppleSun
Summary: Amir's eyes are dark. “Do you ever have a dream that you wish would never end?”Preach is quiet for a moment. “Sometimes, yeah.”





	all of them

**Author's Note:**

> yup another brave fanfic! wrote this just for fun, hope you enjoy

Preach yawns, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes. He’s meant to be keeping watch, not drifting off so his team can be left unguarded and vulnerable while they slumber. Preach checks his wristwatch; it’s only two in the morning. In an hour he’ll wake Jaz for her shift and try to catch some more shut-eye before sunrise. 

The team had been called to this medium-sized town in Albania yesterday afternoon in order to try and capture this Polish arms dealer that was apparently doing a deal with a Albanian terrorist, except Command had gotten the intel wrong and it turned out that the deal was actually taking place the day after they’d arrived, so the team had a full night to wait out. Unfortunately, there were no close enough CIA safehouses for them to hide in, so Top had chosen their resting spot to be the roof of this abandoned three-story office building. At first, Preach had been doubtful. Yes, the abandoned office building he understood, but the roof? Why? What was the point?

But now, Preach thinks he understands. The view is beautiful. Beyond the sprawling bright lights of the surprisingly quiet town, mountains loom high above, standing proud and majestic. Although it’s dark and hard to see, Preach can just about make out the outline of pristine white snow blanketing the tips of the mountains, and Preach can’t help but imagine hiking up there and feeling the icy cold slush in his hand and having snowball fights with the team, maybe even make a crappy little snowman. 

The whole scenery is stunning, but Preach thinks that the best part of it all is the sky. The dark, cloudless sky is filled with beaming silver stars, stretching as far as the eye can see, shimmering in the black emptiness like infinite spotlights in a lighthouse, guiding invisible boats floating in the air. The whole roof is illuminated by the beautiful crescent moon, shimmering brightly in the murkiness of the night. It washes a sense of peaceful tranquility over Preach, despite the fact tomorrow contains a rather dangerous mission brooding over his head and that he knows he’s supposed to be keeping watch. His heartbeat slows and he feels almost drunk on the calm, mind thick and unfocused. 

Behind Preach, he hears one of his teammates stir, a quiet, undecipherable mutter under one of their breaths, Preach can’t tell who. The team are each wrapped up in their sleeping bags, curled up and fast asleep, even though Preach knows from first-hand experience that it’s not very comfortable. 

There’s another murmur, and Preach realises it’s coming from Amir. It’s surprising because Amir usually sleeps quiet as a mouse, apart from that one night Preach woke to someone screaming, although he still isn’t entirely sure whether or not it was actually Amir.

Preach turns to look at the CIA operative, concerned that he might be having a nightmare. But it doesn’t really seem like it; Amir’s eyebrows aren’t creased or furrowed, and there’s a tugging at the corner of his lips that might actually be a smile, even in his sleep. Preach watches for a few moments more, but there’s no more muttering or mumbling and Amir doesn’t seem to be particularly distressed, so Preach turns back to look out over the roof, adjusting his grip on his rifle, when there’s a sharp inhale of air behind him.

Preach glances over his shoulder to find Amir sitting up in his sleeping bag, running a shaky hand through his dark hair. He's blinking furiously, eyes glistening with unshed tears, and although he appears to be smiling his bottom lip is trembling like he’s trying not to cry. 

Preach stares down at the street below, unsure of what to do. Does he go over to comfort him? Ask what’s wrong? Preach doesn’t know whether or not Amir would go for that; Amir’s a very private, secluded person and Preach has only known him for about five months. He feels guilty for not wanting to go ask what’s wrong, Preach knows if it had been anyone else; Top, Jaz, or McG, he would’ve been over there in a moment, ensuring that they were alright. But then again, that might make Amir uncomfortable.

As it turns out, Preach doesn’t have to make a decision at all, as Amir ends up approaching him and sitting beside him without a word, just admiring the view. Preach doesn’t say anything and neither does Amir; Preach is perfectly willing to just sit there quietly and give him a metaphorical shoulder to lean on. 

Amir ends up breaking the silence a few minutes later, voice slightly rough. “Do you ever have a dream that you wish would never end?”

Preach is quiet for a moment. “Sometimes, yeah.” When Amir doesn’t reply, Preach continues. “I dream about my girls, quite often. We’re at the beach, messing around in the sea and making sandcastles, eating ice cream.”

“Must be nice,” Amir says.

“It is,” Preach nods, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “It’s kind of dumb, though, wishing that that would never end. I get to see my girls in real life, I wanna see them grow up, I don’t really want to keep them trapped in a single moment in time.”

“It’s understandable, though.” Amir rubs his shoulder, suddenly looking extremely tired. “You want to keep them safe. They’re safe at the beach.”

They’re quiet for a bit, just sitting on the roof and staring out at the endless stretch of land before them, and Preach glances at Amir. “What about you?” He prompts. “What did you dream about?”

Amir sighs deeply, leaning back slightly. He’s not looking at Preach, his face expressionless. “My old team.”

Preach can’t help the flash of confusion that crosses his face. Amir had a _team_? Since when? The whole issue that Preach and the others have with Amir is that he isn’t much of a team-player, supposedly because he hasn’t ever had a team before. But now, it turns out that he has, so what’s his excuse?

Amir seems to notice Preach’s bewilderment. “Well, it wasn’t really a _team_. More like a couple of field operatives grouped together to complete a couple of missions occasionally. I don’t think the CIA meant for us to work so well together, much less actually get along.” Amir shrugs, looking down at his hands. “But we did, and we ended up with this gaggle of misfit agents, just working together now and then. It was really nice.” 

“You dream about them?”

“Sometimes, yeah. Tonight… Tonight was weird, it was a good dream. A really, _really_ good dream.” Amir swallows, avoiding Preach’s gaze. “I don’t get them very often.”

“What was your old team doing in your dream?” Preach asks quietly, uncertain. He’s still not sure where the line is with Amir, and whether or not he’s crossing it.

But Amir doesn’t seem upset, the faintest of smiles ghosting over him. “We were in some safehouse somewhere, a little apartment in the middle of some random city. It was dark and really stormy, there was a lot of thunder and lightning, and it was absolutely chucking it down with rain. But we had lit the fireplace and it was really warm and toasty inside, and it was so homely and comfortable - which now that I think about it, is really weird.” Amir’s eyes are faraway and unseeing and slightly glazed, and Preach can tell that Amir isn’t here in the present with him, but living in the past, in this dream or memory that he’s describing to Preach. “We were eating this leftover pizza - someone had ordered Hawaiian, _ew_ \- and we had the radio on and all of a sudden _Mamma Mia!_ by Abba came on, and -” Amir breaks off into a smile, huffing in a remembered amusement, eyes dancing with a warm, wistful way that also looks sort of heart-broken. 

“And?” Preach urges. He doesn’t want to push Amir so that he’s uncomfortable, but he doesn’t really want him to stop now, either. Preach is pretty sure he’s the first person in the team Amir has confided in about anything personal. Or just anything, really.

“We just danced.” Amir whispers, voice barely above a breath, words almost swept away by the breeze and Preach has to strain to hear him. “We - we just _danced_ , all night, to fucking _Mamma Mia!_ , and to this day it was one of the best nights of my life.” Amir’s eyebrows crease, and the corners of his lips downturn, the affection previously gleaming in his eyes disappears, and he suddenly looks so incredibly broken.

Preach shifts, unsure of what he’s supposed to say. “Why aren’t you still with them?” He settles for the more neutral question. “How come you’re in a team with us and not them? Did you fall out with them?”

“No,” Amir says, and his features smooth into a blank mask. “No, we didn’t fall out.”

“Are they…?”

“Dead, yes.” Amir nods, eyes fixed on a point in the horizon, hard and unfeeling. “They’re dead.”

Oh. _Oh_. Preach can’t help but stare at the operative with a horrified disbelief. “All of them?” 

Amir swallows thickly, lips pressed into a thin line. In the cold grey moonlight, Amir’s cheeks look gaunt and the dark rings under his eyes look much bigger, illuminated by a bleak silver glow. He seems older than he is, although Preach doesn’t actually know precisely how old Amir is, his eyes empty and vacant, sharp with this hidden emotion that Preach can’t decipher. Amir looks as if he’s seen terrible, horrific things, and Preach has to remind himself he _has_ (they all have), and he’s probably done them too.

“All of them,” Amir confirms, shutting his eyes like he’s fighting down a wave of nausea. 

“I’m so sorry,” Preach says, even though he knows that doesn’t help, it never has and never will, but he doesn’t know what else to say because he can’t even imagine, he can’t even _begin_ to imagine what it would be like to lose his _entire_ team. He doesn’t want to, he physically can’t. “God, Amir, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s okay,” Amir interjects, but Preach knows it’s not, something like that will never be _‘okay’_ , he can hear it in the hoarseness of Amir’s voice and the pain in his eyes, and Preach feels so unbearably guilty for pressuring Amir into this conversation, for making him think about this. 

“No, it’s not,” Preach says, searching Amir’s expression for some sort of sign, anything.

“No, it’s not.” Amir agrees, leaning back, taking a deep breath and opening his eyes again. “It’s really not.”

No one says anything for a while after that, Preach isn’t sure how long. It could be five minutes, it could be ten, hell, it could even be an entire hour for all he knows, but he doesn’t really mind. They listen to the breeze and the quiet humming of electricity, thrumming through the town. Preach can feel sleepiness tugging at his eyelids, and he’s about to go wake Jaz up for her watch when Amir says something again.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“What?” Preach frowns, glancing at Amir. “What’s beautiful?”

Amir waves a lazy hand, gesturing at the sky. He’s on his back and staring up at the dark, eyes flashing brown. “The stars,”

Preach looks up, and yes, he supposes, the stars are very beautiful. It’s a bit of an odd thing to be talking about right now, but yeah, they’re stunning; lanterns of sharp grey-ish light glaring out in the twilight emptiness, and the sky reminds Preach of the sea, sprawling out endlessly, choppy waters and the smooth lapping of waves, embroidered with these twinkling silver stars.

“Yeah, they are,” Preach says, not sure of where this conversation is going.

“Sometimes I like to think that when someone dies, they’re reborn as one. A star, I mean.” Amir says, and Preach can’t really tell whether Amir is just talking to himself or means for him to reply.

Preach hesitates. “Isn’t that against Islam?” 

“It is,” Amir agrees. “But it’s a nice thought. Just waking up as this big ball of gas in the sky, a million light years away, no worries, no fear, nothing. Just you and the sky.”

“I don’t know, I’ve always liked the idea of Heaven and Hell. You know, the bad guys ending up in Hell, the good guys ending up in Heaven with all their loved ones for the rest of eternity. And then later on, you’re joined by the ones you left behind, so you know that you never have to say goodbye, not properly.” Preach thinks about all the good men and women he’s seen die, and all the people who he cares about who are dead too. It’s just nice to think that one day he’ll get to see all of them again. 

“Maybe,” Amir says. “But doesn’t that make this time meaningless? If we’re just going to spend the rest of eternity with them anyways.”

_Huh_. Preach has never thought about it like that. “I guess.” He shrugs. “But you can’t tell me that you don’t want to see your team again.”

Silence. Shit, that was the wrong thing to say. Really, _really_ wrong, how is he so stupid? What kind of person says that after someone tells them that their _entire_ team fucking _died_?

Uncharacteristically flustered, Preach jumps to apologize. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that-”

“It’s okay,” Amir says again, and this time Preach can’t tell if he’s lying.

They fall into a silence again after that, more awkward than comfortable and Preach hates that, hates knowing that he’s the one who made it so tense when Amir was trying to tell him something. He also hates that he can’t seem to find anything to say to make it better, to somehow show Amir that he wants him to talk to him, he hates it when he tells Amir he’s going to wake Jaz for her shift and that he’s heading to bed, he hates it when Amir tells him it’s okay and he doesn’t have to and that he can take Jaz’s shift, and he hates it when he lets him.

“You sure it’s alright?” Preach hesitates. “You don’t have to, it is Jaz’s turn.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m not tired.” Amir says, taking Preach’s rifle. “It’s not like I’m gonna be able to go back to sleep, anyways.”

“Okay,” Preach says, even though he knows it’s not. 

It’s really not. 

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is much appreciated! thanks for reading i hope you liked it


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